Every Yesterday
by Blue Raspberry Boy
Summary: A collection of snippets for Cad Bane (and possibly others) from when Bane was a child, to teenager, to young adult. An overture to his reputation as a bounty hunter, and various preludes to the villain we all now know.
1. I Have A Crush

_"I Have a Crush"_

_- Bane gets his first taste of unrequited love - _

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><p>The twelve-year-old male Duros lit his third deathstick from that afternoon, leaning against the metal fence of the lot. It was all the same thing every time. They smoked, traded around spices and stolen medications, drank cheap beer, played sabaac under the street lamps, and gambled with whatever they had in their pockets.<p>

"Why don't you just go up and talk to her for once? She won't have anything to do with you if all you do is watch her." his male Zabrak companion was laughing. "You're not scared, are you?"

"What? I-I'm not scared." The male Duros' name, at the moment, was Cadomir Bane. But everyone just called him 'Cad' for short (1).

The Zabrak turned away, lighting up a deathstick as well. "Definitely scared."

Cadomir Bane kicked at a pebble on the ground with his steel-toed boot. He crossed his arms and began picking at his black fingerless gloves. The deathstick dangling out of his mouth clicked against his silver lip piercing. His black tank top hung loosely from his gaunt build. His arms and shoulders were covered in temporary tattoos, some of which were fading and others were newer. His personal favorite was a tattoo across his collarbone which read, in vertical order, Aurebesh, Basic, and Durese: "THE UNIVERSE FUCKED ME UP SO I FUCK IT UP RIGHT BACK." Cost him two hundred credits to get it and another one hundred a month to keep it from fading. But it was worth it.

Another temporary tattoo on his right bicep depicted a badly drawn heart with daggers protruding from it at several angles, spilling out words in Basic that were supposed to be a poem, but looked more like a jumbled, fragmented mess of letters that made no sense.

He looked forward to when that tattoo would fade out.

"If you don't just get her already you're going to miss your chance," the Zabrak continued to tease, elbowing his ribs.

"'Get her'?" he echoed nervously.

"You know…" He made a vulgar motion with his hands.

"I j-just want to t-talk to her! That's all!" Cadomir cried out in defense. At that moment they saw the girl in question walking around the bend. Off to her afternoon classes at the academy three blocks away. According to rumor, her father was a politician visiting the city to attend an important commission, and he brought his daughter with. Whatever the rumors, it meant she had been walking by their little lot for over two weeks, every weekday, at ten in the morning and at three in the afternoon.

She was a young Pantoran girl, no older than Cadomir from the looks of it, although she was considerably shorter than him. She had eyes that reminded Cadomir of the sunrise. A smile that made his stomach latch onto his spine. A laugh that sounded like singing. She contrasted the rest of his world. She was the first person he had seen in this place who glowed as she went by. Who walked like she knew where she was going. Who stepped like she knew anything that got in her way until she arrived could be dealt with easily. That appealed to him, but of course, he could never explain why.

The Zabrak shoved him forward, knocking the deathstick out of Cadomir's mouth.

"Come on, you coward!"

"O-okay! I'm going, so l-leave me alone."

"And stop the damn stuttering. Why do you always stutter? It turns people off."(2)

"S-sorry, I'll try to stop."

"She's getting away. Hurry up!"

Cadomir got up and ran before he could think twice about it.

As soon as the girl noticed him approaching she spun around, holding out her bag full of schoolbooks to defend herself.

"Ah! Don't come any closer!"

Cadomir skidded to a stop. Suddenly he was trying, without much success, to remember what it was he had been planning to say to her when he talked to her. His mind drew a blank. Why couldn't he remember?

"I…I…I was w-wondering…"

"What?! What could you possibly want?" She glared at him. The sunrise, now daggers, just like the ones in his heart tattoo that was slowly fading. "I see you here every day and you're always staring at me. You're a creep!"

"W-would you carry, l-like to, for you, me, b-books?"

"Excuse me?" Her eyes brightened.

He felt his cheeks flush. This was not going how he had hoped. Whatever happened to the poised, smooth-talking, streetwise rebel of a boy he had carefully crafted in his own mind? The boy who had cool tattoos and looked cool while smoking deathsticks and who everyone took seriously—where could he have gone? Was he never there to begin with?

"W-would y-you for me, carry y-you, like to, books?"

The girl of all his hopes and dreams began to laugh.

"So you're a creep _and _you're retarded! Even worse!"

"W-would y-you carry, for me, l-like books—"

"Oh, oh, w-w-what's w-wrong? D-d-do you w-want y-y-your m-mommy?"

His eyes widened and he backed away. He _hated _it when his friends imitated his stuttering. It made him want to cry. But this was devastating. He had foreseen buying this beautiful young girl a flower and carrying her books for her, and maybe even holding her hand if she was okay with that sort of thing. Everything had gone all wrong. Her eyes were bright and she was laughing, but it made him feel entirely different than he thought it would.

Cadomir turned away and ran. The words echoed in his head. Coward. Creep. Retarded.

His vision clouded up. Damn it. Why couldn't he talk normal like everyone else? It was so unfair.

He found a quiet place to be alone, hidden in the darkness away from the voices and the noise. He lit a fourth deathstick.

* * *

><p>(1) - In my headcanon, Cad Bane's original name is Cadomir Sotulet (pronounced: Cade-oh-mere, Sew-too-let). I first introduced his original name in a previous fanfiction titled "The Bane Of My Past." In most of these snippets, the character is currently in the process of transitioning from his original name to his new name. Eventually, he will shorten 'Cadomir' to just 'Cad.' But at this point in time, he still identifies as 'Cadomir.'<p>

I have always had fun poking at some of the Star Wars villains' names who sound so 'villainous' it is almost amusing (Maul. Grievous. Sidious. Savage Oppress. As if appearance alone does not give away their villainous tendencies). And 'Cad Bane' is no exception; as much as I love the character, I can admit his name does come across as sounding somewhat 'cheesy.' So I came up with the theory that he changed his name during his earliest years as a bounty hunter.

The fact that there was a Sith named Darth Bane further supports my theory. 'Cad Bane' could have easily heard about this Sith and decided the Jedi might view him as more intimidating if they shared the same name. If this reminds you of the Disney film "Tangled", in which it is revealed 'Flynn Rider' (real name being Eugene Fitzherbert) changed his name to sound cooler, you are on the right track ;)

(2) - This is another theory I am currently developing: during his younger years, Bane had a speech impediment. There are two reasons I have this theory. Firstly, if you study Bane's diction in "Star Wars: The Clone Wars," you might notice that he never stutters, slurs, mumbles, or falters in speech. He speaks very deliberately and clearly. I believe this is something he trained himself to do, and his form of diction is a well-rehearsed skill. A stuttering problem from his childhood would be a strong reason for him to practice this form of speech, and is also why he speaks this way by the time we meet him in The Clone Wars. Secondly, stuttering in children is a condition that can be caused by incredibly stressful or traumatizing events (I know this from personal experience). If you have read some earlier fanfics of mine that go into Bane's childhood, you know I included a lot of stress and trauma. So it is not an exaggeration to say he could develop a stuttering problem as a result.


	2. In Process

_"In Process"_

_- Bane discovers the thrill of killing -_

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><p><em>I will kill him.<em>

The thought tasted strange. Otherworldly. It should be the thought of someone else, not his own. Perhaps it wasn't his after all. But he could not let it go.

Maybe he liked things that tasted strange. Or as of recently, his own thoughts had not been good enough for himself. Irregardless, the more he thought about it, the more he found himself taking pleasure in it.

Two nights ago, just before he had been left alone in the darkness again, to wait and shiver, he heard a peculiar sound. It sounded like glass on the floor. As soon as the door closed behind him, he knelt on the floor and searched with his hands until he found it. A small knife. Must have fallen out of her pocket.

Fifteen-year-old Cadomir Bane hid it in the bottom of his small box of belongings and began to make plans.

_I will kill him._

When would he murder his current least favorite person? To begin with, the murder must take place at the right time. He couldn't do it whenever he wanted, and had to select a time when he would have the least likely chance of being caught, and the most likely chance of making a run for it once the man was dead. Secondly, Cadomir had to know he could kill him without leaving too much evidence, or drawing too much attention.

The first factor, Cadomir could take care of. He had a good sense of time and how the place worked. It was a habit, really…memorizing meaningless data in the happenstance that it might become useful in the future. Data such as work shifts, the number of windows in a room, who took cream in their caf, the colors of string on patches. All these little pieces of information he collected.

However, the second factor would be a problem. He had never killed someone with a knife before. Cadomir supposed a quick stab to the heart might do the trick. But, what if he missed and punctured a lung or rib instead? Maybe he should the cut the throat. But that might not work either, since he did not know how deep he had to cut in order to make a kill. Would stabbing the neck work? Perhaps, unless he missed. Stabbing the heart would be easier than stabbing the neck.

Needless to say, this subtracted from the pleasure he knew he would receive from killing. If he could not make a perfect kill, it might not be worth it at all. He did not like the idea of getting messy.

But the right time, as expected, arrived. He hid the knife beneath his sleeve, and he waited in the shadows.

_Kill him. Kill him._

_Tonight is the last night he's going to mess with me._

"You're late, Bane." There he was, as to be expected. The same voice, the same drunken tone, the guttural choke catching on a broken lung.

He swallowed, trying to get rid of the dry spot in his throat.

"Late?" Cadomir tried to smile. Too casual—bad move. "I was right on time."

"I wanted you to come in early tonight. You remember why." The man locked the door and stepped towards him.

"I remember why."

"I don't think you ever listen to me anymore. Why is that?"

_He will not mess with me anymore. It's all over._

He pulled the knife out from behind his back.

"Don't touch me again."

The man laughed…now of course, that was also to be expected. He had an odd sense of timing with his laughter.(1)

"Wh—what? Tell me you didn't say that and maybe I'll—"

Cadomir moved the knife forward into the man's stomach as quickly as he could. He could tell he penetrated the skin, and Cadomir heard the man's sentence cut off as he let out a gasp of alarm.

"I said. Don't touch me. Again."

_Kill him, oh gods, kill him. Kill him, kill him!_

He pulled the knife out and repeated the same motion. This time, it sunk in deeper. Cadomir could feel it. He shoved the man back and drew the knife into his stomach a third time. The man backed up, choking, as he slowly sank down to the floor.

For a split second, the shock of what he was doing swept over Cadomir's mind. Was he really a murderer? Was this really happening? Was he about to stoop this low? But then it ended as quickly as it had come. He knew this was exactly what he wanted. He was enjoying himself. No such distraction as imposed morals, second thoughts, or imagined divine intervention could get in his way now.

He knelt over the man. Unable to stop himself, because of how strangely _fun _this was, he plunged the knife into his chest, stomach, ribs. His shoulders and neck. And then, when the man's disgusting body finally stopped moving, he began to disfigure the face to his full satisfaction, until the man did not look like a person anymore. This part was the most fun of all, only sad bit was Cadomir could only do it to him once.

Unfortunately, this meant that when Cadomir stood back up, he discovered much to his disappointment that his kill had not been merely as clean as he had hoped. In fact, it was very messy. His knees and face were dripping with scarlet blood. It would take hours to wash out the stains. He took the utter revulsion of the mess he had caused to heart. This meant that he learned a most important lesson that night: even if he was enjoying himself during the act of murder, living in the moment, he could not let his pleasure compromise the clean kill. Efficiency had more value than entertainment. He never forgot this lesson.

Finally, one last mental note to Cadomir Bane. Next time you start collecting 'meaningless' data, start with data that isn't so meaningless. Knowing how to make a clean kill with a small knife, for example. Good thing to know. Do research before you go about killing someone with a weapon you have never used before.

He left the room, as content as if it were his birth-date.

_I guess this means I am a murderer, now, _he thought. _I can live with that._

* * *

><p>(1) - The setting of this fic, as well as the role of the anonymous "man" in Cadomir Bane's life, are intended to be obscure. This is because I will go more into detail of where exactly this location is, what is going on in Bane's life at the time, and why he wanted to kill this person, in future chapters. I would have explained most of it here, but my intention was to focus on his early experience with murder, and I did not want to distract from that element with a bunch of information and backstory.<p> 


	3. Relapse

(Warning: this story is about self harm and includes some references and descriptions that may be triggering. I'm not promoting self harm in any way.)

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><p>"<em>Relapse"<em>

_- Bane returns to an old habit -_

* * *

><p><em>.<em>

_It's a comfort that kills you_

_It's a love song that ails you_

_Don't pretend to hate it_

_Just pretend to fake it_

_You can hide the tears_

_But you can't hide the scars_

_._

The first time had been the simplest.

It started with only three things. One: a night out drinking with two friends who showed him how to sneak into the cantina with a fake ID. Two: a small knife he had stolen some weeks ago. And three: a passing word that refused to leave his head.

Words were the hardest to forget for Cadomir Bane. When he told his friends he wanted to be a bounty hunter when he grew up, the response _"You'll never be smart enough to do something like that" _seemed to stick. When he told them what happened on the last star system he had hitchhiked to, the words _"It couldn't have been that bad" _played over and over mentally. Like a song with lyrics one hated but a tune one could not stop dancing to.

Trouble was, Bane did not know how to dance. But the stolen knife knew how to. Its young blue dance floor crisscrossed with beaded drops of green that night in the cantina bathroom stall, where comm numbers and dirty poems were written all over the walls. When he realized he had been gone almost long enough to arouse suspicion, Cadomir Bane pulled down his sleeves and hid the knife in his back pocket. Under his breath, he swore he would never do that again.

Three weeks later, he hit a low and let the knife dance up his other arm, twice as bad this time. He hated how it felt so welcoming, so attractive. Like anyone would understand that. It probably made him a freak to think that hurting himself and seeing his own blood would calm his nerves so easily.

Luckily, being a cold-blooded reptile, one had to generally stay covered up with clothing that preserved warmth. Even Bane tended to wear less clothing than he should anyway, just for the hell of it. Because he could and it was fun to take the risks. But when he began sticking to the long-sleeved shirts and jackets, with the excuse that he needed to for his own health, there was little protest. Save for only one girl who none of Bane's friends listened to much anyway. Thank the stars. None of them understood this side of him.

It never became a full-on habit. From Bane's perspective, anyway. But every time the numbness hit, every time someone said something that made him tick bad enough, every time the stress pounded down…he took it out on himself. When the pale blue lines filled up both sides of both arms, he started on his legs for a while. He was becoming quite a mess of a canvas, he mused one night, after he had 'borrowed' his Human girlfriend's razor blade while she was out working.

Why bother not to. Everyone was already a mess in the end. It was not a matter of who was the least messed up, but a matter of who hid it the best. And as it turned out, Cadomir Bane was not the type of person to hide his mess real well.

Or so he thought at that age.

* * *

><p>The night he made his first kill as a bounty hunter was the hardest. Nothing could stop the shaking, crying, constantly talking over his own voice. None of his friends nor favorite drinks provided comfort. Not even the reward money from killing the target made him feel better, as he had hoped for. So with no other choice, Bane decided to punish himself for what he had done, rectify the blood on his hands. It was a never-ending night.<p>

He had flinched pulling the trigger, flinched when he had to shoot again to make sure the target was dead. But within a few years, Bane would have already forgotten how to so much as blink an eye at the kill.

Then when it was morning again, Cadomir Bane found the strength to get dressed and keep walking like it had never happened. At least that part got easier every time. Nobody was ever going to know about his self harm. Nobody was going to know that it was not an accident from fixing his speeder, not from getting hurt on the job. Every bit of it had to stay secret.

When it came to having sex, however, Bane had to get creative. Find excuses to keep his jacket on, say the room was too cold and he would be better at it if he could stay warm. When that couldn't work, keeping the lights off usually did the trick. Those few times it was impossible to hide the scars, Bane found himself either coming up with another elaborate lie that always involved a creature with claws, or he threatened or bargained with his partner so they wouldn't tell anyone. So far, it seemed his secret was safe.

* * *

><p>Months, then years, went on in this way. He thought he was finally done with it for good. He would never be able to forget because the scars were always there, but at least it could stay in the past. A part of him that was locked away.<p>

Then it happened again.

He woke up from a dream in which he thought the Jedi were using the Mind Trick on him again. He could still feel the Force clawing like cold fingers into his thoughts and memories. It had only happened a few days ago, but Bane had not forgotten it. How could he? He had lost his own mind ever since and could not seem to find it again, wherever it had taken off to.

It felt silly, how easily he slipped back into that old habit. But as the nightmare echoed over and over until he felt unsafe and used in his own head, Bane found only one way to come back to reality. By then, the knife he had hidden for so long was covered in rust, the edges jagged and filthy. Bad idea in retrospect. As if he cared.

The wound on his left arm was still healing from the laser bolt that had grazed it back on Devaron. He tore off the bacta strip and reopened it. It hurt like hell. But it was nothing compared to having his own thoughts played it, and more importantly, it was real.

The habit came to him like an old friend. The dance he used to flirt with almost every night as a teenager.

When he relapsed, the habit was ready to welcome him back as it always did before, always there, never truly gone for good. At least, Bane mused, that meant he would never be alone.


End file.
